Red Rain
by Desert Bloom
Summary: A happier ending will have to wait for a more peaceful world. What is the price of patience, as Relena and Heero's dream of a Utopia free of war slips ever farther away? Conflicts on the global stage threaten the Gundam Wing crew.


_Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing and I'm not making money off of this. This is rated pg-13 for lime and violence._

_I'm not about to be silly and take credit for this wonderful phrase – listen to Warehouse by the Dave Matthews band for the great song and that perhaps even better lyric._

* * *

_Authoress' Note: I should warn people about potential OOCness considering how I haven't actually watched the series in years and even if I had, I might have difficulty with this. Couples are as follows (listing the ones with the most focus first): HyxRP, WCxRP, WCxSP, DMxHS, QWxCB, TBxMU, ZMxLN. So yeah, figure out the two love triangles from that. I might only focus on the first three depending on how the story works itself out – I have the majority of it planned, but that is susceptible to change – and if I do write more than I planned those would be the other couples I featured. Now, wander away from my prattle and enjoy my hard work won from sweat and tears._

* * *

Chapter One of Red Rain: Our Cloud and Dust

* * *

A collective sigh was released not only from her, but the very air, and the icy sway traveled down the green slope of meadow to greet his familiar, windswept hair. She felt the muscles of her fingers tighten into a reflexive fist, blue eyes widening with a poet's undecipherable wonder. Certainly, she hadn't expected him here. Relena rarely expected the conundrum of character that was Heero Yuy anywhere, nevertheless where she was also.

Calmly, he slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans and lowered his gaze to touch upon the ground and nothing else. Of course, he couldn't fool her. As he made the short trip up the hill – his hair forever swaying in the spring breeze and his outline still a collection of muscles perpetually poised like a sleeping serpent still ready to strike – she could tell, despite his purposeful demeanor to the contrary, that he hadn't been expecting her either. Had he known, he either wouldn't have come here at all, or he would surely been tucked into the most subtle shadow, the sole corner where the moon did not shine, which was about as much good to her as if he wasn't there at all.

Nearing the crest of the hill, he stopped at a point where she was still somewhat above him – slowly, awkwardly, he raised his eyes to meet hers – even though it took a great deal of very apparent effort, as his eyes slid first over her shoulder, the slender slope of her chin, and then her watching, scrutinizing, gently smiling gaze. Relena very rarely saw this man of mission in a spot of discomfort, but she supposed she was also acting very out of character. Politics demanded a calm, controlled goddess of diplomacy, ironic considering she realized she was a basket case surviving dramatics through a great resource of luck, pluck, some fanciful ideals she refused to believe could not be realized, and…a vital measure of the man that was Heero Yuy.

"How are you?" asked Heero.

"Happy," answered Relena instinctively and sincerely, admittedly tilting her own eyes away from both a burdensome pressure of fright, and a desire to take in the sparkling baubles of the black overhead, "Glad. Glad that Noin convinced me to come away for a little vacation and visit Trowa's circus. I didn't realize though, that I would be blessed like this – had I known, I don't think I would have put up such a fight."

A slight pause stretched out, but it was neither awkward nor uncomfortable, a pleasure granted by the magic of the rolling hills and bobbing lights of laughter and lamps by the tent in the distance. In fact, Relena wouldn't have entirely minded if it lasted a little longer, but then she was stricken with the thought that Heero wouldn't have come along for social/entertainment reasons without some outside persuasion.

"Duo?"

"Yes," returned Heero, and Relena chuckled at the subtle scowl that this admission inspired.

"He's a tricky one, all right," chimed Hilde behind her, and Relena jumped in fright, abruptly jarred.

Heero, of course, had noticed Hilde approaching when she was some half a dozen yards of way, and regarded her interruption with a placid expression. Hilde brought a protective arm around Relena's shoulders in a friendly bear hug. "Hey, geez, why so flighty this evening? Anyway, are you two done with the tearful reunion and all that jazz? Trowa and Catherine's performance is about to start! You'll have tons of time to talk afterwards."

It was a mixed blessing, being torn away from that moment, but Relena accepted the unconscious sacrifice with the same necessary diplomacy that common politeness as a politician dictated – as for Heero, his entire life was sacrificing his body's welfare as a vessel for the greater good of other people's causes. Relena conceived this particularly introspective thought while sitting under the big top tent, as she watched Catherine dance gracefully with those pointed harbingers of death, daggers.

It was Trowa's juggling that really captivated her, however. In his masterful hands, they were not rounded masses of rubber but planets, separate spheres spinning under the influence of gravity perpetuated by their puppet master's alternate momentum of force; Trowa was their God, a faceless deity solely chosen to commandeer.

It had nothing to do with religion, that impractical art of belief. The balance and the control were more than admirable. If only everything came as easily to her as juggling obviously did for Trowa.

Afterwards, Hilde was exactly right, they did have tons of time to talk while the sun slept and the moon took advantage of his eternal, twelve-hour spotlight – but that's not what they did at all. They did stay together, yes, and they did return to the top of that sloping hill, and they did enjoy each other's company, yes – but none of it required any verbal recognition, which would only register as an intruder in their complete understanding of the here and now.

Again, Relena sighed, remembering how the subtle admission of fatigue could superstitiously be twisted to explain the joy delivered to her a couple of hours ago, in the form of hazel eyes and a hidden smile. And then the exhaustion really broke over her like the crest of a wave, fully realized and sweeping the strength from her legs like her feet really did stand upon ground as sturdy as the forever-changing channels of sand by the shore. Her head fell upon his back, and she felt the muscles there tighten immediately with some unknown tension. They would not relax, and then her consciousness of it faded as her eyes closed without command.

"It's been a long…a…long…time…"

"A year," agreed Heero matter-of-factly.

"Yes," said Relena, and then: "Sorry."

"Hn." It was questioning – as if he wasn't sure about the origin or cause for an apology.

"Sorry. I'm heavy. Didn't mean to, to do this, but…I'm tired…and I'm glad…to see you…"

"Relena," began Heero, and had she not been slipping into slumber (the absolute worst time her body could have possibly picked) she might have given more care to the lines of seriousness his tone washed over. He stopped, suddenly understanding she might not be listening, might not even be awake. "Relena –" He started again, and turned, and that wasn't exactly the cleverest action the perfect soldier had ever committed.

They broke under the weight of the pale moonlight, and as if heaven's creatures descended, dropped down across the expanse of green sea in a flurry of golden locks and hazel eye and warmth caught up together. It was at the base that they found their landing, literally speaking, although emotionally they were anything but grounded. Relena was awake now, jarringly suddenly, instinct causing her to jump up and stay put at the same time, as her eyes flew open, then widened further to find herself in a somewhat compromising position. She stretched her legs underneath his own, and attempted to detach the tangle, but his comforting grip upon her arm sent a surprising message.

"No," He said suddenly, the evident emotion concealed within causing her posture to slack and her protests quell. "Just…"

Whatever it was, he didn't quite finish it, but Relena knew she just wanted to stay. Her arms swept up around to catch the slant of his neck and she tightened their embrace, trying to keep the happy sob out of her voice as she said: "You stupid – stupid soldier, you -! I missed you."

They could only be thankful that the height of the hill blocked any lecherous eyes, though they were equally sure that their company could divulge telling information from the most innocent of behaviors and mannerisms of appearance. When it was done, Relena leaned into the curves of him and closed eyes that ached with a bittersweet menagerie of fatigue and sheer happiness. Likewise, Heero found the short distance between her ear and neck a threshold of unspoken miracles, intertwining his fingers in the blonde rain that poured down her back in rivets.

"We won't stay like this," noted Relena suddenly, ruing her words the moment the demons escaped from the darker chambers of her worrying mind. "Because nothing is like this one place for this one night – not the outside world, at least."

"That's your magic," whispered Heero, his glorious, gruff, husky chimes in her ear. "You truly believe that it can happen. That the world can be a better place."

_Heaven and hell on earth, _thought Heero, _and you, pulled from the path of angels._

"It can!" protested Relena indignantly.

Then she laughed at herself, her fingers lacing across her forehead jeweled with glimmers of sweat and then the cool grass. Finally, it was brought back to Heero, whose skin was the most wonderful texture in the universe, even if not perfectly smooth. It was the scars and the weathered feel that gave him character, stood as a vital testament to the trials and tribulations and his ensured, inevitable conquest of them.

"Someday, I will do it," she said, silencing briefly. She was watching the golden roar that folded over the nearby horizon, and brimmed with most abject loathing she'd ever felt for sunshine. "We could come back here, then, and truly live past many nights and many dawns and see no definite distinction."

"You will do it." Heero paused just briefly, and then his lips met her cheek kindly. "And if you don't, then I will, and I'll come back here with you – I promise."

In complete seriousness, he continued (albeit quieter, as if a thought accidentally spoken aloud): "Mission accepted."

* * *

_Six months later…_

* * *

"Don't you dare go in and try to be the big hero guy – one guy against fifty men isn't charming or brave, just stupid." Sally had this wondrous way of emphasizing the last word, and its impact was barely decreased even through the static of the comm. system.

"Okay," said Wufei cheerfully, "now kindly shut up, onna."

"Gladly," chimed Sally, which only managed to infuriate him further. "And thank you, Wufei, for being such a gentleman. As usual." She was referencing the 'kindly'.

The banter – once witty and light, had now turned depraved by the residing bitterness that Wufei didn't quite feel like thinking about now – was cut abruptly short as attention solely and directly to the mission returned and Wufei focused himself on tip-toeing around the warehouse.

He didn't know what he would find inside, and though in the old days he would have been more interested in seeing if he could overcome the challenge of some five-score men – well, the old days were over now, weren't they? Wufei could feel himself turning into a more honorable version of Heero, in the sense that he focused on the mission and sparingly little else. Dramatics and heroics could wait for the absolute best solution to a dilemma.

"Ze – Sorry, Milliardo, is around the other side right now."

Wufei liked to forget he had a partner in this, but at least he could trust in Milliardo's capability. "Thanks," said Wufei briskly, just to note the communication duly received.

The mission today was simple enough, at least on paper. This warehouse had received enough weaponry to successfully supply about a quarter of one of the smaller country's armies. At least, that's what the research claimed it did. This could all be a very big paperwork mistake, which would turn out extremely annoying, nevertheless somewhat disappointing. Of course, Wufei was reconnaissance. Legally, you couldn't just barge into someone else's property, especially if the government was only working on a hunch. It had something to do with idiotic mumbo-jumbo pap that people like Relena spent their entire life creating, and Wufei had been blessed with the opportunity to allow people like the Preventers to do their job. If he saw anything suspicious, like uniformed men without a uniform of any company he recognized (and Lady Une had made sure he was well versed before the mission) or even the weapons in question, then Wufei could have the waiting soldiers up in the hidden plane alongside Sally to arrive on the spot in a moment's notice.

Determined to do something exactly like that, Wufei cocked his gun and raised his head at the first dirt-stained window that popped into sight. After taking in the sight, clearly distinguishable even amid the dim light, Wufei slowly brought his head back down and stared briefly off into space.

Then he ran forward without a second thought, only jarred somewhat when Sally's cries of rage at his temporary insanity. Hearing them, he chose to ignore them, and flung open the door to the warehouse. He poised his gun calmly into the gloom, and advanced cautiously forward, taking completely advantage of the gift of perfect awareness that harkened back and had been fully developed in the Gundam days.

"What are you –!"

"Quiet," snapped Wufei, irritated that his concentration was shattered, even if only momentarily, "I'm not letting my guard down at all, onna, but I will admit that I don't believe there's anyone left here capable of harming me."

His statement was supported by the fact that his shoes were moist from the pools of blood, and he each step he took was calculating and graceful in order to avoid the fallen guns, and, more importantly, body parts. Wufei found Zechs deeper within the delightful, dark chasm, his white hair an eerie source of light brightness that offset the scene. He was kneeling down and checking someone's pulse; the way he raised himself surrendered the information that the man, like probably everyone else, was unquestionably dead.

Wufei lowered his gun and relaxed just a little, although a deep pensive wariness still resided, and he knew he could bring his wit back fully in the minute span required for survival.

"The stench says about a week," said Wufei. "Such a massacre…it's a dishonor."

Folding his hands into the pockets of his trench coat, Zechs observed the dishonorable massacre solemnly. His assent was silent, but palpable. At length, Wufei heard Zechs speak into his comm. link:

"That's right, Poe. Everyone's dead. Gunshot wounds. About fifteen men."

"Not quite, as I am a sixteenth," piped up a reedy voice, "and it's been more like a week and a day. Though you were close – close! Close, but it won't get you a cigar! Do you have one, by the way? I could use something to clear my head…dreadfully messy head, you know…they say it just has cobwebs, and dust, and cobwebs, and dust, and cobwebs, and…"

Both Zechs and Wufei had their guns instinctively trained in the direction of this newcomer on the scene; he was barely visible through a slant of shadow, pale moonshine skin barely hanging onto bones that starvation had deprived of sufficient meat. Upon closer focus, an unshaven, wild-eyed countenance was revealed.

"…dust," finished the middle-aged man awkwardly.

* * *

His name was Tom or Matthew or both, and he was looking plump, at least compared to when they'd first found him: swathed in some generic gray clothes and swaying with the serpentine smoke of his cigarette. At least in his own mind, he was a great man about town.

He was also an amnesiac, had some sort of a strange condition – partially why he couldn't remember his true name – and, like something nearing clockwork, would automatically forget his whereabouts and other key points of his identity. Also, he was paranoid (believed there were ghosts in the walls and an alien attack was definitively imminent), and possibly heard voices.

Most importantly, however, he was their witness.

Zechs could be diplomatic when he wanted to, and he showcased this now, thumping the cigarette box and glancing at the guy with easy comfort. Taking a protruding cigarette despite the fact that he rarely smoked, he offered the fellow the other in a faux genial spirit of camaraderie. Zechs waited before taking a drag, if he was even going to take one at all, and Wufei sullenly watched the emitted gray cloud dance into disintegration under the lamplight from his post by the door. 'Interrogation' was always mind-numbingly idiotic, and this wasn't even it – it was becoming increasingly more like kiss-the-crazy-guy's-smelly-rump.

"So you were working for them, then –"

"No!" cried Tom/Matthew, Zech's meticulous effort ruined in the fleeting span of a second as Tom/Matthew banged his fist against the table in a fit of real fear. "Not them! Never them! I won't let them get me like they did them – no! Not them! Never them! I know when the jig is up! I do – I know when it's up!"

"Is it up?" asked Wufei disdainfully.

"_Chang_," stressed Zechs, sighing audibly, rare under any circumstances. "Fine. Let's start again. The mercenaries. You said they were mercenaries."

"Hired hands," mumbled Wufei, temporarily putting away the urge to voice his disgust at the dishonor involved in such a practiced profession.

Trowa had been one, once – a drifting individual that worked for the money, not the cause. It was positive in this situation because it meant whatever was being planned was the brainchild of a more singular power/mind, no new organization or cult. To all extensive appearances, they'd helped that person until the individual had achieved their goals and decided that witnesses to their crime were a negative development indeed. And, Wufei noted, that while it was nice to know that this wasn't a cult and/or organization, it also meant that they knew little else. Unless, of course, they could convince this bat to speak, if he was even capable of it…Wufei could see Zech's pause and come to variably the same mental conclusion.

"Were you one?"

"Sir, you've got to get what you can get, you know? Like, for instance, I have new, cleaner clothes and some cigarettes because you guys want to see what I can give you. Well, opportunities like that don't always knock, and a man needs money…"

"You don't have to justify it," interrupted Zechs, raising a hand impatiently. "What were you paid to do?"

"Well," Tom/Matthew leaned forward, eyes locking seriously with Zech's, "it had everything to do with keeping the ghosts out of the wall. And the aliens. One of them almost killed me, you know. Do you know about the aliens?"

"Yes," said Wufei. "Killed one."

"_Chang_," stressed Zechs again, although now he had a stronger emphasis in order to better depict his annoyance.

The man was taking Wufei sincerely, though. "You do! Then you must know about them. Do you know anything about their code? Because the one that attacked me said strange things…said…'Mission complete'. Now why," demanded Tom/Matthew, "Would they say something like that? What was their mission? Is it the end of days, like the great book says? I'm telling you, you've got to warn your superiors about this!"

Finally, Zechs actually did use his cigarette, leaning back in his chair and allowing several minutes to stretch back. While he huffed and puffed and the lines of his expression darkened, Wufei scrutinized the man, trying to decipher any mannerisms of truth. It was painfully challenging. Anyone can lie at any time, but the man wasn't hitting the usual facial fallacies capable of giving him away. Of course, there are always ways to thwart the system.

If the man noticed any change in his interviewer's demeanor, he gave no sign. Truthfully, he was too busy. Rocking back and forth, occasionally throwing fearful glances at the wall, he let his eyes roam up towards the ceiling. His cigarette made sharp darts and turns as his mumbling mouth quavered. Then, his eyes went conspicuously blank, and when lowered, visibly brimmed with clear confusion.

"Where am I? Who are you?"

Awakened from his stupor, Zechs stood, put out his cigarette in the ashtray that sat between them on the table. Glimmers of light reflected off the metallic form of his raised gun. "Your archangel," said Zechs, "Now rest."

The shot was silent, and a sighing Wufei uncrossed his arms by the door. "It's a shame you can't really kill him. What makes you think he isn't bluffing?" The sleeping dart protruded from the moonshine flesh of the man's neck.

Zechs seemed to share the same sentiment of regret, but professional duty seemed to dictate that he answer differently. "Don't want him chatting us up until we can figure out how to get him to say something useful. The psychologist said all the mental problems were authentic."

"Witch doctors notoriously bad at surviving wars."

"Whatever your opinion, we're not going to get anything more out of him without permission to use violence, which we don't have."

"I see the dilemma," observed Wufei bitterly, "for even if Yuy was involved, it only confuses the scenario more. Did he clean up a potential mess, well, messily, or…"

"He might not have killed anybody at all. The only requirement is that he met this _one_ man and attacked _him_. Anyway, do you…"

"Know where he is? Baka. Don't generalize my understanding just because I'm a Gundam pilot. You're expecting some sort of psychic karma or something?" Pausing, admittedly somewhat because of Zech's subtle glare, Wufei concluded: "Go ask the braided boy wonder."

* * *

Her eyes were wearing out. Try as she might, Relena could not concentrate today. The words were jumbling into one big mess and made about as much sense as the cryptographs that Quatre had shown her excitedly once – he'd become a big fan of pyramids and the desert culture since the old days, a link he exploited to help him subconsciously reminiscence about Sandrock.

Though she hadn't thought about him in a long while, seeing as she couldn't be daydreaming when countries hung on the important point of it, today seemed to be different. She suspected it had something, and probably everything, to do with the way the sunlight had crawled through the glass pores of her window this morning, faded and pale like that dawn six months ago, as if some film had been stretched over the light.

_Six months. It was a year last time. Maybe now it'll be two years, and then…who knows? A decade will go by. Eventually, I'll never see him again._

It was such a somber thought that she managed to return to her paperwork for about a half an hour, retreating for the fear of the idea. During that time, a knocking came on her door. At her curt grunt of recognition, Landon stepped in – the burly, and also remarkably faithful and fair-mannered, bodyguard.

"Excuse me," said Landon, professionally polite as usual, "but I just wanted to remind you, Miss Peacecraft, of the press conference in ten minutes."

Setting her pen down, Relena gave an agitated start and glanced feverishly at her watch. "I…ah, yes, sorry," – _Yes, he must be taking his cue from _my _professionalism – _"Thank you very much, Landon. I'll be out in five. No, make that two."

Relena didn't waste time watching the dismissed Landon leave the room. But she was thinking of him as she furiously scrawled a couple last lines of comment on a return letter to an anxious senator. Landon was the one with the kid, not that a lot of other bodyguards didn't have them, and whole broods, but Landon was a newborn to newborns, figuratively speaking – his first child with his first wife. Relena knew this not because she was particularly cozy and privy to this kind of personal information, but because sometimes she caught him bragging about it to the other bodyguards while on duty.

He never bragged to her about it, of course, and on days that she was feeling particularly lonely or isolated from the rest of human society (she could influentially guard the direction human society took, but not necessarily partake in it except for occasional appearances by Noin and others from the Gundam days) she nursed a deep desire to trudge up to him and demand that he gloat and simper in front of her as well. The insanity always subsided, however, and she was left with only an admirable respect for Landon's overall proficiency at his job and his family.

With her triumph over time running through her veins, Relena met Landon outside. He nodded respectfully, and they proceeded to the press conference. Relena was still shifting over some of the material and questions that she suspected would be fielded to her, mostly about the plans she made with the Winner Corporation to come to an agreement with other businesses. Even though these were competitive institutions whose conflict helped the economy thrive, her goal and involvement solely extended to helping them find a way to funnel a portion of their money towards charity…and earn more money for charity together. It was Quatre's idea, of course, and with other idealistic business leaders, it would be a few dozen steps in the right direction.

Relena claimed her podium and did her best to drain the initial nervousness she seemed to always suffer. Since it was only initial after all, she found herself sink into the comfort of hitting her political stride – communicating, using the reporters as access to the public's general concern.

She was good at this. She wasn't good at Heero Yuy, but she was good at this.

"No," began Relena at the fifth question, "though precautions have been made. I assure you that if I doubted there was any sincerity in the words of the other - "

Landon was the only one who saw it; he must have been the only who saw it, because he was the only one who moved or acted or reacted at all. The actual shot was silent; much to her own chagrin, the technology had been advanced in recent years and for a lot of pretty pennies you could purchase long-range silencers. In fact, Relena might not have even known that a gun was fired or anything of the sort had not Landon lay bloody on the floor by the podium, slowly dying. He had run in her direction, and apparently blocked the bullet.

Relena screamed and stepped back, and the room was flung into chaos. In the next few moments it would go entirely unnoticed that a picture of Landon's daughter, rosy-cheeked and smiling, had fallen out, trapped underneath his body, dripping with red rain.

* * *

Outside, the clouds were pregnant with sheets of descending silver. Their swelling belly seemed tainted by a painter's broad strokes of dusty gray. Becky didn't care, and was wearing her familiar sunhat, pinned with iris, when Omar greeted her.

"How'd it go?" She asked, turning her impishly youthful looking face to his broader, darker set complexion. Her smile seemed more appropriate to a leisurely stroll or an excursion to the grocers…not the deeds that had been done today.

He looked away vaguely, the gun butt itching him in his side, the paranoia and rush still stagnant. Every face in the crowd was deemed worthy of suspicion, despite how nonchalance and distance might obscure their nuances until they were mere rounded fingertips upon a black backdrop.

Finally, he turned back to her, and met her gaze evenly. "Did exactly what you told me to. Your favorite Queen is still alive, but her attention will be on the demise of one of the pawns."

Her smile widened, still innocent in appearance, and her twinkling musical menagerie of laughter easily outpaced any other sounds in the busy street.

"Hey Omar, let's stay and wait for the rain, okay? Because when it's finished, there might be a rainbow. It can be called impulse! And then we'll visit a café."

* * *

_**Preview For Chapter Two of Red Rain: Daddy's Little Girl** _

_Guilt-stricken, Relena confines herself to her room. Wufei is not quite consoling. Lady Une brings news that Duo has found Heero, and within this context Relena comes to a decision. If only Duo could talk as much sense into Heero._


End file.
